


sharing snacks and ribbing ravagers

by grison



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Kraglin is a terrible troll, Merciless teasing, Rocket POV, Rocket is the worst at flirtation ever, Team as Family, everyone is kind of uncomfortable with actual feelings, flirting for fun but alas not for profit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 04:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grison/pseuds/grison
Summary: There's a few things about Ravager culture that Peter didn't think it was worth mentioning to the team.On balance, Kraglin disagrees.





	sharing snacks and ribbing ravagers

It’s been a long damn night, the kind of night that has really turned into an early morning and then into a late morning and then a suspiciously early afternoon by the time it’s over, but Rocket has finally finished the modification repairs to the _Eclector’s_ fuel cell transmission system. He’s ready to sleep for a _week_ and then spend another week grooming the oil out of his greasy fur, but first he needs to visit the mess and…

 

Aha.

 

It looks like he’s managed to finish his work right as the rest of the crew is having lunch. _Flarking_   _fantastic_ , he crows internally, and makes a beeline straight for the weird tuber wedge things that Peter has casually strewn all over his plate. They’re covered in dogcheese powder, just like he likes, and they’d be just the thing, and if he’s _just_ fast enough— _and the crowd goes wild_ , he thinks gleefully, biting into the first of the handful he’s swiped off Peter’s plate before the big humie can do more than yelp in protest. He crams the first in his mouth with delight, relishing the squishy texture as it hits his belly.

 

He doesn’t expect Kraglin, who’s been sitting across the room with his nose buried into a mug of something as he fiddles with the remains of what looks like a dumpling and occasionally chomps on a Beastie from a half-empty tin, to suddenly choke and spit hot liquid all over him. _Gross._ He certainly doesn’t expect Peter to—huh, did he just jump and flinch? That’ll bear looking at for blackmail material later. Something smells _juicy_ there.

 

“What’s wrong with you, old man? Grub got your tongue?”

 

Kraglin coughs once more and clears his throat, glancing at Peter—who is, _huh_ , turning red with all the fervor Rocket associates with genuine embarrassment _—_ and opens his mouth. “Didn’t expect the kid to have moved so fast to food-sharin’, is all.”

 

Peter bristles, and Rocket sits back on his haunches, because this is promisin’ to be dinner and a _show_. He’s not disappointed when Peter growls, “It’s _just fries_ , it don’t mean anything bigger than that.”

 

Kraglin suddenly grins wide, wide as Rocket’s ever seen, and leans back into his chair. “Aw, li’l Quill, you don’ gotta hide your conquests from me. I hauled you out from that whole mess when you went an’ stuck your tongue in that A'askvariian boy, nothin’ could shock me after _that_...”

 

“ _I was trying to get information_ , and then my girlfriend stabbed me over it! God, why do you always have to bring that up—”

 

“—and that whole thing with that Rajak chick, which—hey, I’m seein’ stabbin’ as kind of a theme with you, y’might wanna look into that—”

 

“—I’ll take that under advisement from a man whose romantic history centers around _prostibots_ and _weird blue people—_ ”

 

“—so I’m just sayin’, if this is who you’re takin’ up with, you could probably do worse—”

 

“ _Look_ ,” Peter finally shouts, “ _It’s not a sex thing,_ all right?”

 

Rocket chokes on his pilfered snack and stares in horror. Gamora, who has been nibbling contemplatively at something alarmingly raw-looking and bloody, follows suit. Even _Drax_ looks up in confusion at that one.

 

“They’re my _family_ , Kraglin. I love them, but not in _that_ way!”

 

“Except Gamora,” Drax helpfully chimes in. Peter grits his teeth again, and mutters “except Gamora.” Gamora herself looks extremely uncomfortable.

 

Drax warms, horribly, to his topic. “He will not even tell us about the first time they shared orgasm! Such _hangups._ ” Peter yelps and wheels on him. “We haven’t—what is _wrong_ with you?”

 

“Peter.” Gamora sounds like she’s gripping her aura of calm by her fingernails. “Would you care to explain?”

 

Kraglin raises his eyebrows and, if possible, grins even wider. “Aw, boy, y’ain’t even _told_ ‘em what that means?”

 

“We’re not Ravagers, we’re _Guardians_. It didn’t seem like it mattered!”

 

Kraglin pointedly looks Peter up and down, head to toes. “I dunno; seems to _me_ that you’re still wearin’ the flame, ain’tcha?”

 

“It’s not like I’ve had time to get my _jackets tailored_ , we don’t all have—”

 

“ ** _Peter_**.” Gamora’s air of taut, delicate calm cracks as she hauls him back to her point. “Will you _explain._ ” It’s not a question.

 

“I—Ravagers are twitchy about food. You don’t let just anybody eat off your plate, and you don’t touch anyone else’s food either if you want to keep your fingers. But… if it’s someone you really trust, you maybe don’t kick up much of a fuss if they steal something, or maybe you give them a bit of your food before they try.” Peter looks sheepish; Kraglin, leaning down, looks more amused than Rocket has ever seen the quiet, thin man. Grin widening even further, Kraglin pipes up, “It’s usually a real _romantic_ kind of thing to do.”

 

Rocket himself is getting a bit queasy and feeling the uncharacteristic urge to drop the tuber wedges and step away. _But hey_ , he consoles himself, _I didn’t consent to any touchy-feely bullshit about food anyway. Quill’s slow enough to let me take it, that’s his own damn business. Don’t hafta mean anything to_ **_me_**.

 

Peter sputters. “ _It does not have to be a romantic thing._ Look, I’m Terran, sharing is a big part of our people’s culture! One of our most important cultural sayings is ‘sharing is caring!’ I had a past before the Ravagers, I’m not _just_ a Ravager! I don’t have to take in your weird Ravager culture!”

 

Kraglin looks unconvinced, although he’s clearly failing at not giggling through his teeth. “I dunno, Peter, seems like a pretty big thing to leave unsaid unless y’had some _tender_ feelings you were keepin’ squirreled away. Anyway, you never seemed big on sharing when someone looked like they might want to play anything _else_ on the ship airways...”

 

Drax mostly looks confused. “But Quill, we frequently share your meals. I saw Gamora insist that your plate contain vegetation only yesterday, and last week you insisted that I must try a piece of the flatbread you were eating. And you are always offering new items for Mantis to try.” He looks like he hits an epiphany, always dangerous with Drax. “Did Udonta share his penis with you as well as the snacks I saw when we were headed to destroy the Dark Aster? Was it also blue?”

 

Both Kraglin _and_ Peter spit with horror and confusion at _that_ one, and Rocket starts to laugh. Peter manages to get the words out first as both of them flush dark with embarrassment. “I— _no—ew_! That’s _disgusting_!” Peter picks up the remains of his meal tray and starts marching around the room in full tantrum. Rocket only barely manages to stop laughing when Peter tries to stuff an actual dessert bar in his flarking _mouth_ , which is _gross_ , and even more narrowly manages to keep from biting Quill’s hand in retaliation.

 

Peter’s still got bits of food in semi-edible condition, and he thrusts pieces in turn at each of the remaining Guardians. He furious chants “not a sexual thing, not a sexual thing, _still_ not a sexual thing” as he hands a piece to each of them in turn, staring Kraglin dead in the eyes the entire time. Gamora abandons hers and skitters away in what appears to be alarm. Drax chews thoughtfully on the yaro root Peter thrusts into his hands. Groot doesn’t seem to know what Peter is doing and attempts to give back the chunk of sandwich bread that remains.

 

The chanting doesn’t seem to be having the desired impact; Kraglin’s smug, lazy grin hasn’t wavered for a moment. Rocket’s not sure why, but that bugs him. He figures he might as well interject at this point; after all, he’s pretty sure he can make the whole situation even more entertaining and get rid of this awful sticky-sweet bar all at once if he’s careful. Most humies don’t find him particularly attractive (something Rocket is fervently grateful for given the alternatives he’s experienced), and he figures Kraglin’s no exception. So he swaggers up to Kraglin, bats his eyes as guilelessly as any prostibot, and thrusts the dessert bar in his general direction.

 

“Want to take this off my _hands_? It’s so, y’know, sweet and sticky, and it’s just not to my taste… I always did like ‘em a little more bitter and, uh, burny. Like a good drink. Y’ _know_?” Rocket’s pretty sure his flirting is coming off without a hitch.

 

Peter stares at him in horror. _Jackpot._

 

Kraglin blinks and freezes for a moment, but then grins wider and relaxes, slurping one of his Beasties with an obnoxious _smack_. “Aw, darlin’, I dunno if you’re lookin’ for _me_ , then. I like my bed sweet an’ friendly, but if you’re that set on it, I s’pose I could always make an _exception_...”

 

Rocket freezes. _Aw, fuck, I didn’t expect him to play_ along _!_ He scrabbles wildly for a response and waves the bar at Kraglin a little harder, trying to mimic the faces he’s seen on the humies stumbling out of the whorehouses that tend to stack up in the streets that usually house his favorite bars. “I insist, hot stuff; I’m _sure_ it’d be worth the change.” He winks, and hopes fervently that he’s got the right eye this time.

 

Kraglin looks him up and down _real_ slow—fuck, what if he _is_ serious?—and drawls, “Aw, well, sweetheart, I’d be glad to take it, then, but only if you’ll take a Beastie right back?” He proffers the can, shit-eating grin firmly intact. Rocket loses his nerve. He’s _pretty_ sure Kraglin’s full of shit, but he’s had enough experiences with humies whose roving eyes aimed at walks rather more on the wild side than he personally is all that comfortable with, and he’d like this to stop _right now_.

 

Kraglin clearly notes his sudden confusion and snickers to himself, withdrawing the Beasties tin without touching the dessert bar. “Oh, I guess not? Thought you all were the ones who were so _open-minded._ ” He slurps up one of the Beasties, obnoxiously loud in his enthusiasm. Peter groans. “Kraglin, no one is fucking _anyone else_ on this ship. Rocket included.”

 

Drax crunches his yaro root in contemplation. “I do not see how opening Rocket’s skull would improve anything about this situation, but I agree that this is probably why Quill is so consistently perturbed. Peter, you should—”

 

“—Drax, would you just _shut up_ for _once in your life_ —” Peter hurls himself at Drax, apparently reduced to attempting to silence him by shoving things into Drax’s mouth. It doesn’t seem very successful.

 

“—I fail to see how that will improve the situation, everyone knows your engorgement arises at the least opportunity, perhaps if you would just—”

 

“—Drax if you don’t shut up _right this minute_ I swear to you I will make you wish—”

 

Gamora takes advantage of this momentary distraction to flee the room entirely. Rocket grins to himself, early embarrassment forgotten—that’ll be good mocking bait for the next time those two humie idiots pretend they’re not dancing around each other like a couple of half-grown juveniles.

 

Kraglin, apparently done, slurps the last of his Beasties between one of the wider gaps in his teeth and grins even wider at Peter, who is still trying to actually force the remaining yaro root into Drax’s mouth while he tries to keep speaking anyway. He manages to make eye contact with Peter (will wonders never cease?) and clears his throat. “I can see you two have a _lot_ to be getting on with.” He winks. “Better give you all some privacy, I think.” He swaggers off towards the bowels of the Quadrant, completely straight-faced, but Rocket’s not fooled: Kraglin didn’t account for unusually perceptive mammalian ears when he was judging his distance.

 

It’s probably pretty hard to simultaneously leg it and double over in hysterical laughter, anyway, so Kraglin’s not moving as fast as he usually would. Rocket wonders how long it will take Peter to realize how much of that was teasing, and whether he’ll realize no one is left to watch him futilely attempt to make Drax “shut his flarkin’ _hole_ ” first.

 

Slowly, Rocket shakes his head and, belly full, reaches for a cup of the mek that will let him get to sleep for the next day or two. He downs it before stumbling off to his bunk, scratching his balls as he goes, leaving Peter’s agonized wails as Drax bites his fingers lingering behind him.

 

Life as a Guardian is certainly _different_ than it was when he and Groot were on their own. Most days he prefers it, but some days…. Well.

 

Some days he remembers just how _weird_ his crewmates all are, is all.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, it's been a long, long time since I wrote anything fictional--think 2011 would have been the last time I wrote so much as a drabble, and before that it was 2005 or 2006. The second movie gave me some thoughts, though, and I'm thinking maybe I ought to try my hand at it a little more. I got some feelings about Gamora and Nebula in particular I'd like to air out. 
> 
> "Li'l Quill" is stolen shamelessly from ashintuku's excellent _[someday, yeah, we'll get it together and we'll get it all done](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11353656)_ , and if you liked this and haven't read it yet, you really ought to hie yourself thence and go have a good wallow. 
> 
> Let me know if you have some advice.


End file.
